Which makes me feel worse about Toph. If we’d been better friends, we would have kept in contact. It was dumb to think there was a chance we might make it. I can’t believe Matt, of all people, was the one to point out how poorly I handled it. And, honestly, now that I’ve had time to reflect on it, Toph isn’t even that huge of a loss. It only hurts so much to think about him because of Bridgette. How could she keep this a secret from me? Her betrayal is infinitely more painful.
I didn’t have anywhere to go this New Year’s, so Seany and I are staying in. Mom went out with some work friends. I order a cheese pizza, and we watch The Phantom Menace. This is how much I want to prove to my brother I love him—I’ll sit through Jar Jar-freaking-Binks. Afterward, he drags out the action figures while we watch the Times Square countdown on television. “Pkschoo! Pkschoo!” Han Solo fires at my Storm Trooper before ducking behind a sofa cushion for cover.
“It’s a good thing I wore my laser-proof jacket,” I say, marching forward.
“There’s no such thing as a laser-proof jacket!You’re DEAD!” Han goes running across the back of the couch. “YEHH-AHHHH!”
I pick up Queen Amidala. “Han, you’re in danger! Go the other way! The Storm Trooper is wearing his laser-proof jacket.”
“An-nuhhhh, stop! Pkschoo pkschoo!”
“Fine,” Amidala says. “Leave it to a woman to do a man’s work.” She bashes the Storm Trooper’s head with her own. “GHHNNOOOO!” He falls off the couch.
Han jumps down to the carpet and begins shooting again.
I pick up young Obi-Wan. “Ooo, Amidala. You look radiant. Kiss kiss kiss.”
“No!” Seany snatches Obi-Wan from my hand. “No kissing.”
I pull another figure from Seany’s toy box. It’s a Sand Person, the one Bridgette must have bought him. Oh, well. “Ooo, Amidala. Kiss kiss kiss.”
“Sand People don’t kiss! They ATTACK! RARRRRR!” He steals this one, too, but then pauses to examine its bumpy little head. “Why aren’t you talking to Bridge?” he asks suddenly. “Did she hurt your feelings?”
I’m startled. “Yes, Sean. She did something that wasn’t very nice.”
“Does that mean she’s not going to babysit me anymore?”
“No, I’m sure she will. She likes you.”
“I don’t like her.”
“Sean!”
“She made you cry.You cry all the time now.” He throws the Sand Person in the bottom of his box. “Do you still have the one you bought me?”
I smile. I get my backpack and start to hand the toy over, but something nags at me. Sigh. “You can have this on one condition. You have to be nice to her. It’s either Bridgette or Granddad, those are Mom’s only babysitting options. And Granddad’s getting too old for this.” I gesture toward the pile of discarded action figures.
“Okay,” he says shyly. I give him the package, and he cradles it. “Thank you.”
The kitchen phone rings. Mom checking up on us, no doubt. Seany gets up to answer it while I look for a suitable new boyfriend for Amidala. “I don’t understand you,” he says. “Please speak English.”
“Sean? Who is it? Just hang up.” Aha! Luke Skywalker! The one missing a hand, but oh well. Amidala and Luke kiss. Wait. Isn’t she his mom? I toss Luke aside, as if he’s personally offended me, and dig through the box again.
“Your voice is weird.Yeah, she’s here.”
“Sean?”
“Is this her BOYFRIEND?” My brother laughs maniacally.
I lunge into the kitchen and grab the phone. “Hello? St. Clair?” There’s laughter on the other end of the line. Seany sticks out his tongue, and I push him away by his head. “GO. AWAY.”
“Sorry?” the voice on the phone says.
“I was talking to Sean. Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“How’d you get this number?”
“Well, you see, there’s this book. It has white pages. And it has all of these phone numbers listed inside it. It’s also online.”
“Is that your booooy-friend?” Seany asks directly over the receiver.
I push him away again. “He’s a boy who’s a friend. Go watch the countdown.”
“What happened to your mobile?” St. Clair asks. “Did you forget to charge it?”
“I can’t believe it! That’s so unlike me.”
“I know, I was shocked to be sent to voice mail. But I’m glad to have your real number now. Just in case.”
The extra effort it took for him to call me makes me happy. “What are you up to? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?”
“Eh. Mum wasn’t feeling well, so I’m staying in tonight. She’s sleeping, so I suppose I’ll be watching the countdown alone.” His mom came home from the hospital a few days ago.The situation has been up and down.
“What about Ellie?” The words fall out before I can stop them.
“I, er . . . talked to her earlier. It’s the New Year in Paris, after all. She went back the day after Christmas,” he adds.
I picture them making Amidala kissing noises over the phone. My heart sinks.
“She’s out partying.” His voice is sort of glum.
“Sorry to be your second choice.”
“Don’t be stupid. Third choice. Mum’s asleep, remember?” He laughs again.
“Thanks.Well, maybe I should hang up before my first choice falls asleep.” I glance at Seany, who has become quiet in the other room.
“Nonsense, I’ve only just called. But how is your man? He sounded good, even if he didn’t understand a word I said.”
“You do talk funny.” I smile. I love his voice.
“Speak for yourself, Atlanta. I’ve heard the southern accent slip out—”
“No!”
“Yes! Several times this week.”
I hmph, but my smile grows bigger. I’ve spoken with Meredith a few times over the break, too, but she’s never as much fun as St. Clair. I walk the phone into the living room, where Seany is curled up with my Sand Person. We watch the countdown together. I’m three hours ahead of St. Clair, but we don’t care.When my midnight hits, we toot imaginary horns and throw imaginary confetti.
And three hours later, when his midnight hits, we celebrate again.
And for the first time since coming home, I’m completely happy. It’s strange. Home. How I could wish for it for so long, only to come back and find it gone. To be here, in my technical house, and discover that home is now someplace different.
But that’s not quite right either.
I miss Paris, but it’s not home. It’s mo
re like . . . I miss this. This warmth over the telephone. Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place? Bridgette used to be home to me. Maybe St. Clair is my new home.
I mull this over as our voices grow tired and we stop talking. We just keep each other company. My breath. His breath. My breath. His breath.
I could never tell him, but it’s true.
This is home. The two of us.
chapter thirty
It saddens me how relieved I feel to be going back to France. The plane ride is quiet and long. It’s my first flight alone. By the time the plane lands at Charles de Gaulle, I’m anxious to get back to the School of America, even if it means navigating the métro by myself. It’s almost as if I’m not afraid of riding it anymore.
That can’t be right. Can it?
But the train ride back to the Latin Quarter is smooth and easy, and before I know it, I’m unlocking my door and unpacking my suitcase. Résidence Lambert rumbles pleasantly with the sound of other students arriving. I peek through my curtains at the restaurant across the street. No opera singer, but it’s only the afternoon. She’ll be back tonight. The thought makes me smile.
I call St. Clair. He arrived last night. The weather is unseasonably warm, and he and Josh are taking advantage of it.They’re hanging out on the steps of the Panthéon, and he says I should join them. Of course I will.
I can’t explain it, but as I stroll down my street, I’m suddenly racked with nerves. Why am I shaking? It’s only been two weeks, but what a peculiar two weeks. St. Clair has morphed from this confusing thing into my closest friend. And he feels the same way. I don’t have to ask him; I know it like I know my own reflection.
I stall and take the long way to the Panthéon. The city is beautiful.The gorgeous St-Etienne-du-Mont appears, and I think about St. Clair’s mother packing picnic lunches and drawing the pigeons. I try to picture him racing around here in a young schoolboy’s uniform, shorts and scabby knees, but I can’t. All I see is the person I know—calm and confident, hands in his pockets, strut in his step. The kind of person who radiates a natural magnetic field, who everyone is drawn to, who everyone is dazzled by.